Author's note: This chapter is going to have a time skip. If anyone is interested about the time in between, then I would be happy to write small stories about Stiles' time at Wayne manor. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

A month later

Stiles sat on his bed, holding a picture frame in his hands. It was the day they bought their house. His dad was on the left holding the sold sign proudly against his chest. To the right was Parrish, who had a deeply annoyed look on his face. Stiles was crouched between the two, making the silliest face he could think of.

It seemed so long ago. Stiles placed the photo back on the nightstand. He could hear the party going on downstairs. Another holiday without them.

A knock disrupted his thoughts. "Hey, Tim said you were up here." Dick was holding a plate of desserts. "I thought you'd like some company."

"I don't want to take you away from Barbara."

"Babs won't mind." Dick sat on the bed. "So what's up?"

Stiles stared at the floor. "I miss my family. My dad's spending New Year's in jail. Parrish is still in the hospital. I don't know what I've done to deserve this."

Dick put an arm around his shoulder. "You haven't done anything wrong, Stiles. Bad things have happened to you. None of which were in your control no matter how much you wanted them to be."

"How do you cope with it? How do all of you?" Stiles asked. Their histories were all wracked with tragedies. Loss after loss.

"I try to live the life my parents would have wanted me to have. I have Babs, Bruce, Alfred, and Tim to support me. You have us." Dick ruffled his hair. "Are you ready to go see the fireworks? I know Tim's been waiting to see them with you."

Stiles nodded and followed Dick downstairs. The party had moved outside. As soon as he saw them, Tim waved them over to his spot on the lawn.

"You should see what Barbara has done to the dogs."

"Knowing Babs, it's nothing good." Dick said before he went off to find his girlfriend.

Stiles looked over to Ajax and Ace, who were sporting matching red ribbons. "Oh my god. It's adorable."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Of course you would find that adorable." He looked at his watch. "It's almost time."

Stiles craned his neck towards the sky as everyone counted down. Three. Two. One.

"Happy New Year!" Everyone shouted. Alfred set off the first round of fireworks, illuminating the manor from above.

A new year. So much had happened in the last couple of months. He lost his dad and then Parrish.

Now there was Tim and his family. After coming home from the hospital, Bruce had moved him immediately into the manor. He was more than shocked to say in the least. It wasn't every day that a billionaire became your guardian.

Bruce was a good man. He did, however, have an image problem in the media. He was labeled as a playboy. Irresponsible. Extreme sports enthusiast. But Stiles knew that wasn't true. Under the facade, Bruce was a simple family guy. He lived for his kids. Sure, he was gone most nights but that didn't bother him.

Dick, who he had met at Christmas, was not what he was expecting. He was the epitome of a big brother. He immediately took a liking to Stiles, taking him under his wing. Stiles was the Luke Skywalker to his Obi-wan.

Tim, on the other hand, was definitely Leia. Or Han, the trusty sidekick. He proved just as loyal, covering for him when they broke a 300-year-old vase.

Life at Wayne Manor was never boring. Stiles and Tim always had something to do. If it wasn't anything mischievous, then they were playing video games. Sometimes Dick joined as their third player when he wasn't busy.

As he got closer to the Wayne family, he couldn't help but be reminded of Scott. He missed him a lot, but their relationship had been rocky over the past few months. Last time he had talked to Scott, he was dealing with some crazy Darach lady.

"Did you enjoy the fireworks?" A voice asked from behind them.

Stiles jumped and held a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. "Bruce! You almost gave me a heart attack."

Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. "No harm intended. I just wanted to talk to Stiles about something."

"I guess I'll get out of your way then." Tim said. "Don't take too long. We're going to light some sparklers later."

"We won't. I'll have him back before you know it."

Bruce made his way towards the manor, Stiles close on his heels. He led them to the quiet of his study.

"This time of year is always hard when you've lost so much." Bruce walked over to his desk, picking up an old newspaper. "When my parents died, I spiraled out of control. I tried to find their killer, but all I found were dead ends. I felt helpless and lost."

He handed Stiles the newspaper. It was torn at the edges but still in good condition. The front page had a picture of Martha and Thomas Wayne standing in front of an orphanage. Stiles had driven by it with Parrish before. "They built this place?"

"It was my mother's project. She was a philanthropist. She donated to many charities and organizations." Bruce walked over to the portrait of his parents. "I realized that I needed to find a purpose, and that purpose was bettering Gotham."

Stiles put the newspaper back on the desk. "Are you telling me to give up on my father?"

"No." Bruce said. "But I can see that it's consuming you. The bags under your eyes tells me you haven't been sleeping. Alfred's also found a board under your bed with all your research about the case. You can't let this be your entire life. There has to be other things that get you out of bed in the morning."

Stiles let Bruce's words sink in. He could see where he was coming from. Spending time with Tim and his family had been a nice distraction, but the events from the past couple of months had stayed in the back of his mind. A nagging sensation that only seemed to grow in strength. As much as he would have liked to focus on other things, he couldn't. Not when his dad was in prison, and not when he was the only one who knew what was truly behind it.

New Year's came and went; his father's court date had finally arrived.

Stiles paced in his room, holding a blue striped tie in his hand. "Okay. You can do this."

He put the tie around his neck. Over and under. And, uh, he messed up. "Grhhh."

"Oh, dear. I believe that's too tight." Alfred came rushing over and helped him loosen it. "Here, allow me. I found that an easy mnemonic always does the trick." He straightened the tie around his neck, one side was shorter than the other one. "Now repeat after me. The rabbit bounded away with the fox snapping at his cottontail." Stiles giggled at the ridiculousness of it all. Alfred hushed him and continued. "Once around the tree, the fox chased the rabbit." Alfred wrapped the long side over the short side. "Twice around the tree, they ran." He wrapped it over again. "The rabbit scooted under a bush, away from the fox." Into the hole. "The little rabbit got away and dove right into the safety of his cool, dark hole." Alfred adjusted the tie with a small smile. "And done. Master Bruce is waiting for you downstairs."

"What if I told you I'm not ready, Alfred?" His nerves were starting to tear him apart.

"We are never ready for anything, Master Stiles. You must do the things you think you cannot do."

"Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

"Eleanor Roosevelt. It does not make it any less true."

"Smart lady."

Stiles twiddled with his thumbs anxiously as the limo turned the corner. Bruce gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It'll be okay."

Bruce meant well, but he wasn't sure if it would be okay. Reporters were crowding the entrance, ready to attack them when they came out. Alfred opened the car door, pushing people out of the way. He saw a familiar face in the crowd.

"Out of the way! Let them through!" Dick was wading through the sea of reporters. He gestured for Stiles and Bruce to follow. They went through quickly, Bruce covering Stiles with his coat.

When they finally entered the courthouse, Stiles was relieved. Bruce had kept his cool throughout the whole ordeal, but he knew he was equally upset. He guided him through the courtroom, which was surprisingly full of people. He hardly recognized any of them.

He scanned the room; his dad's seat was empty. Stiles sat with Bruce near the front.

"All rise. This court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Gonzalez presiding."

The judge entered through a side door and took a seat at the front bench. He wore a stern expression on his face. He banged the gavel on the block. "The defendant may be brought in."

Stiles gripped the edge of his seat. His dad walked in behind the bailiff, eyes trained on the floor. He was wearing a suit unlike the last they had met. His hair was longer, and he looked tired. For a brief second, their eyes met. His dad stood a little straighter. Guilt washed over him. In the past month, Stiles had not visited once. He had called his dad at Christmas and New Year's, but he couldn't bring himself to see him in person, fearing the reality that would come to pass if all failed.

His dad took a seat next to his attorney Malcolm Davies. He was a hotshot lawyer, who was charismatic and had a long track record of winning cases. He'd met him once before New Year's; they'd gone over the trial and what to expect. On the outside he seemed arrogant to most, but Malcolm had taken great care of his father's case.

Malcolm stood to make his opening statement. "Your Honor and ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the prosecution would have you believe that John Stilinski is guilty for a crime as heinous as murder. But today, we shall prove otherwise. First, Detective Roman Garcia, an unbiased government official who examined the defendant, will testify to the lack of gunpowder residue on Mr. Stilinski and the lack of a murder weapon tying him to the crime. The evidence in total will show that he was nowhere near the crime scene. He was picking up his son at Gotham Academy like any good father."

The judge rested his gavel and gestured towards Malcolm. "The defense may call its first witness."

Malcolm straightened out his papers. "The defense calls Detective Roman Garcia."

The detective trudged through the narrow aisle, taking off his hat when he reached the stand. The bailiff brought forward the Bible and swore in Det. Garcia.

Malcolm cleared his throat, approaching the stand. "Detective Garcia, after your examination of the defendant, did you find any gunpowder residue on his hands or his sleeves?"

Det. Garcia shook his head. "No, I did not."

"And was the murder weapon found at the scene of the crime or on Mr. Stilinski's person?"

"No."

Malcolm clapped his hands together. "I have no more questions for this witness. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the only things tying Mr. Stilinski to the crime is the video surveillance footage from a convenience store across the park and two witnesses who claimed to have seen Mr. Stilinski shoot the victim and drive away; one of the witnesses was Officer Dougherty's partner Jacob Lansky.

Now my question for you is about the man in the video, how certain are we that it was John Stilinski? For all we know this is a man who looks remarkably like the defendant. The same thing could be asked about the witness testimonies. Could this be a case of mistaken identity? I call my next witness, Officer Jacob Lansky."

Stiles took a shuddering breath, amazed by Malcolm's way with words. It shocked him how close to the truth Malcolm was, but he was wrong about one thing. It wasn't another man; it was a supernatural creature.

Officer Lansky came to the witness stand. Malcolm walked over to the jury. "Officer Lansky, can you tell us what you saw that day?"

Officer Lansky cleared his throat. "I was coming out of the convenience store and I saw Mr. Stilinski pointing a gun at the patrol car. He shot twice and then fled."

"So, you saw all this from the convenience store?"

"Yes."

"The convenience store that was a good distance away from the patrol car."

"I know what I saw."

Malcolm pointed to the back of the courtroom. "Who is that man sitting in the back to the far right?"

Officer Lansky squinted. "Um, that's...how am I supposed to know?"

"You don't recognize your superior, Commissioner James Gordon?"

Gasps filled the courtroom. "I'm just tired."

"Or maybe, you didn't see what you thought you saw that day. No further questions."

"Will the prosecution wish to cross examine?" Judge Gonzalez asked.

"No, your honor." The prosecutor, Ms. Vaughn said. "We ask for a 15-minute recess? I think we all need a break."

"Granted. Court is in recess."

Stiles looked at Bruce, who had a pleased smile on his face. Malcolm was a good attorney, and his confidence was contagious. For the first time in months, he felt like something was going right.

Stiles sank back into his seat, drying the water he had splashed onto his face with his sleeve. He had been in the bathroom for most of the 15 minutes trying to calm himself down.

"The prosecution may call its first witness."

"The prosecution calls Commissioner James Gordon." Ms. Vaughn said with a smirk.

Stiles' eyes widened a fraction. Jim came down the aisle; Stiles scooted to the edge of the bench. "Why are you doing this?" He whispered harshly. Jim was his dad's friend. He felt a little betrayed that he was going to testify for the prosecution.

"They subpoenaed me, Stiles. I have to testify."

And that was it. Jim was sworn in. Ms. Vaughn readied herself. "Commissioner Gordon is it true that the morning of the murder, John Stilinski and Tom Dougherty were involved in an argument."

"Uh, yes."

Stiles' eyes flickered over to his dad. He held his head in his hands.

"What was this argument about?"

"John, Officer Stilinski I mean, was upset that Officer Dougherty had released a man from custody. He believed there was enough evidence to keep him there."

"Did they argue a lot?"

"They had disagreements. Like any of my other officers."

Ms. Vaughn shook her head. "Yes or no, commissioner."

Jim sighed. "Yes, they argued often."

"They disliked each other. Another question for you. When you hired the defendant, were you aware that he was diagnosed with PTSD."

Stiles clenched his teeth. How dare she?

"Yes. He had disclosed that to me before he began working for the GCPD."

"Is that not a risk?"

"Officer Stilinski was interviewed by multiple psychologists before he was allowed to work for the department. They all deemed him fit for duty."

Malcolm slammed the table in front of him. "How is this relevant?"

"I am trying to assess Mr. Stilinski's mental state at the time of the murder."

Judge Garcia put his hands together. "I'll allow it. Tread carefully Vaughn."

"Thank you. Under what conditions was Mr. Stilinski allowed to work for the department?"

"That he receives treatment."

Ms. Vaughn picked up a piece of paper from her table. "I have an affidavit from his current psychiatrist that by the time the murder took place, Mr. Stilinski had missed three appointments. I don't believe that is someone who is seeking treatment, do you?"

"I'm assuming that was a rhetorical question, Ms. Vaughn."

"You assumed correctly. Commissioner could Mr. Stilinski have been mentally impaired at the time of the murder?"

"He isn't a doctor, your Honor."

"I'm asking his opinion. Do you think he could have been mentally impaired?"

Jim closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Dad." Stiles held himself.

"Stiles, do we need to go?" Bruce asked.

Stiles shook his head.

"I don't think that it's a stretch to say that the defendant's mental state and the argument that morning were factors that could have pushed Mr. Stilinski over the edge, making him do something that he never would have done. The prosecution rests."

"We're leaving."

Despite Stiles' weak protests, Bruce pulled him out of the courtroom. He glanced one last time at his dad, who was looking back at him with worry in his eyes. He couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle any of it.

"Alfred's got the car ready. I'm surprised you lasted that long."

"Me, too." He was mentally and physically exhausted. Malcolm's confidence, it wasn't so contagious now.

Stiles sat on his bed, holding a duffel bag across his lap and a phone in his hand.

Fifty-fifty. Fifty-fifty that Malcolm could get an innocent verdict. Odds that Stiles couldn't live with.

He dialed a number he hadn't dialed in a long time. The phone rang. "Hello?"

"Scott."

"Stiles!"

"I-" Stiles bit down on his fist. "Hi, buddy."

"Hi to you too." Scott choked out. "I've been worried about you."

"I know, I know. You're my best friend. I should have called more, but I knew that if I did I wouldn't be able to hide anything. I'm losing my mind, and everything's gone to shit."

"Let me help you, Stiles."

"You can't. I'm only calling because I'm about to do something stupid and I needed to set things straight. You're my best bro. You always will be."

"Stiles, don't do anything yet! I can be there-"

He hung up before Scott could get in another word. Stiles looked at the picture on the nightstand.

"You'd be very disappointed in me. Both of you would. Bruce and his family, they've been very good to me. Took me in when I had no one. For a month, it felt like I had a family again. But I have to do this. I have to find out the truth because no one else will."

Stiles stood and walked over to his desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write. When he was done, he strapped the duffle bag across his shoulder and put the letter under a heavy paperweight.

Alfred was moving around downstairs. He pushed the bedroom window open.

"Goodbye Wayne Manor."

End note: I do not own Alfred's mnemonic. I borrowed it from Rabbit and the Fox by Sybrina ( /id/Learn-To-Tie-A-Tie-With-The-Rabbit-And-The-Fox-1/).